


a big old crying fit in the middle of walmart

by jaythewriter



Series: Misplaced Attachments [15]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trauma manifests in many different and embarrassing ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a big old crying fit in the middle of walmart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post a pal made about having crying fits in public. Felt it might fit Misplaced Attachments. Content warning for smoking.

"You're sick, you're allowed to be miserable and cry about it."

Jay tells him that after every violent spell, dabbing a tissue across his red blotchy face. Alex takes his words into his heart, holds them close as the reassurance of someone he loves, someone who understands the tick tockings of his brain.

He can never remember it in time for when the tears come pouring out, though.

It's never a heavy sobbing fit where he'll throw himself to the ground and roll around in a puddle of anguish. God, no, he's so glad that isn't the case. Alex would immediately sign up to become a mountain hermit if his fits warped into that sort of shit.

The tears creep up on him with no warning, though. Last week, he was waiting in line at the grocery store, thinking of what to make for the family-- that is to say, his mother, Jay, and Tim-- once he returned home. His brain hooked onto that thought, that he's cooking dinner for people he calls family, a tiny colony who he can count on, who are there without fail when he comes home.

His eyes grew hot, and he lost it.

Alex couldn't look the cashier in the face while he piled the rice and meat up onto the conveyor belt. They greeted him, straining a smile, losing it the moment Alex swiped an arm over his face.

"Are you alright, sir--"

"Fine!"

He didn't intend to come across as so... mean. Cashiers face twenty assholes or more a day, he never wants to add to that number. They checked him out without another word, jumping back when he slammed a five dollar bill on the counter.

"That's for you, I'm sorry," he uttered, before bolting from the store. He heard murmurs following him out the sliding doors, along with a very confused "thank you!" aimed at his back.

Of course, Jay is sympathetic to him. When he returned that night, he went to Jay first (Tim might have the experience but he doesn't let Alex lay his head in his lap for pets).

"It's okay, you're allowed," Jay reminded him, again and again.

He can't take it with him. In the confines of this house, the one he grew up in and finds safety within now, he can look himself in the mirror and say: yes, I am a changed man because of what I've seen. I'm going to behave in a way that most people don't at times. It's not bad. It's cathartic.

Outside, it's back to the knowledge that it's generally frowned upon for people to cry in public. It doesn't help that he is a tall masculine figure, that can't score him any points in the 'mentally sound' category.

"It's better than what you did before," Tim tells him as they share a cigarette, swapping back and forth over the ash tray Christina designated for them to use. No more indoor smoking or she will literally take Tim over the knee.

Alex raises his eyebrows, inhaling and letting the smoke trickle out into the night. The crickets briefly fall silent, disturbed by the smog that hovers over them.

"What does that mean?"

Tim turns his head, fixing him with a look that could kill the average man with the amount of 'are you kidding me' in it. He snatches his cigarette back from Alex, refusing to share after that.

"You know perfectly well what I fucking mean."

Alex does, but he sort of hoped Tim was going to be gentle on him about this. Maybe he should have gone to Jay instead about the crying fit today on the highway. But he already went to him about the ever so fun incident in the grocery store...

"Honestly though, I get it. Public breakdowns aren't as fun as they are in movies, no pretty girls that come up to you and check if you're okay," Tim says calmly while slapping away a mosquito. He blows smoke in the direction it takes in attempting to escape his hand. "Just a lot of general discomfort. Maybe an old lady who'll come ask what's up and call you honey."

That's too uncomfortably close to life. He wishes Tim would hand over that cigarette again.

"How do you deal with it?" Alex presses for more, reaching out to take Tim's hand. It's rough, thicker than Jay's, stronger from work down at the shelter. How did someone blunt and biting as Tim end up in a job where he takes care of animals daily?

Tim glances down at his hand, but he doesn't shrug Alex off as he does at times. He exhales another cloud, silencing the world around them.

"I remind myself that these people aren't my family, so they don't matter. Plus they probably cry just as much on their own time."

Alex nods, wrapping his fingers around Tim's, stealing his warmth while they sit on the cold solid concrete of the front porch.

Of course, those are words that he can take to heart, if he's sitting next to the man who uttered them.

When he's on his own, he doesn't know if it'll stick.

These crickets. The only life left in the night. In the night. Every lake-- life-- night...

Alex doubles over, bringing his breath slowly. His eyes are hot.

Tim's broad palm caresses his back, circling the middle of his spine.

It's a process.


End file.
